


Elrond and the 101 Mary Sues

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, Canon - Non-canonical to good purpose, Canon - Outstanding AU/reinterpretation, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - Good villain(s), Characters - New interpretation, Characters - OOC to good purpose, Characters - Outstanding OC(s), Characters - Strongly in character, Characters - Unusual relationship(s), Fellowship of the Ring, Humor, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Fast moving, Plot - Good pacing, Plot - Joy, Plot - Surprising reversals, Writing - Clear prose, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Every word counts, Writing - Evocative, Writing - Experimental, Writing - Good use of humor, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s), Writing - Well-handled dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2004-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover of sorts, LoTR/101 Dalmatians. Elrond’s 101 gorgeous daughters happens to Middle Earth. At once. Anything man-like, be it elf, dwarf or... well, man, would do anything to obey them. The whole world gets OOC. In despair, or in some cases, out of boredom, the characters you know travel towards Rivendell. Will they manage to save the world before it is too late? Or are they all doomed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which the Sues are set loose

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Once, in fair Rivendell, lived Elrond Halfelven the Tailor, in The Last Sewing House.

Elrond was a good tailor, and also, said some, quite handsome. Naturally, the latter being the most important, these qualities had turned Elrond into a rather popular elf. It had also turned him into a rather rich elf.

But Rivendell was not, as you might think, occupied by fair maidens trying to capture Elrond’s heart. It was instead being occupied by fair men. Oh, don’t get me wrong here, there were some fair maidens _also_ , swooning whenever they’d see Elrond, or drawing their breath deeply when his hand accidentally would touch theirs, as they handed him money for his excellent handicraft. Dresses, that is. And occasionally a coat. Sometimes even a purse, though that was rare.

Alas, no, it was not for Elrond’s sake the young brave men had come to Rivendell. (Though _some_ might have. But most hadn’t.) No, for you see, Elrond had 101 daughters. Fair to the eye were they all, hair as bright as the sun, or as dark as the night, and most colors in between as well. Each and every one of them had eyes which could persuade a man to do anything; clean the bathroom, move the sofa, feed their ego, pay the bills... you name it. Oh, and sex, of course.

Their perfect bodies would always be presented in the most flattering manner, and considering that their father was _the_ Tailor of Middle Earth, that wasn’t very strange. Every man-like creature, be it elf or dwarf, Maia or Nazgúl, hobbit or even the Dark Lord himself, would crawl on his belly through Mordor to please these women. Just one look at one of Elrond’s daughters and their beautiful clothes, or sometimes the absence of beautiful clothes, was indeed enough to enslave a man. (Or woman. Not that they were into that kind of thing. Not at all. I’m just saying.)

Well, to be brief, they were gorgeous.

Pity then that they were all so damned annoying. A man who was chosen by one of Elrond’s daughters would do everything but actually die out of pure happiness. His thoughts would get dim and his speech go daft. He would follow the girl around like a puppy, which was all rather sad. Sometimes though, a light would glimmer in his mind. In this light he would see his girlfriend for the demanding, dull, two-dimensional creature she really was. Alas, how brief these moments of enlightenment would be. A single word from the lady, and he would be under her charms again.

No, the daughters of Elrond sure as hell weren’t nice. 101 they were in number, and they all had names. Pretty names, I assure you. Would you like me to tell them all?

No. None of us would be happy if I did, would we. Instead, we’ll just call them... _The Mary Sues_.

However, as time went on with its business and the girls grew, so did their habits; that is to say, there was hardly a man to be found in or near Rivendell nowadays who didn’t suffer from a broken heart. This meant, for instance, that several good Rangers failed to do their duty and watch as they’d been set to do, simply because they had urgent appointments with their psychologists instead. And in the Last Sewing House, where the elves had once sung out of joy and happiness, Elrond was having a serious problem. Insomnia. This was because of all the ballads which were sung to praise his daughters, but also because of the fights which would be the result when several suitors had chosen the same girl to be The One of their hearts.

This could not go on. Elrond decided that something must be done. This was the morning after a particularly noisy night, during which he finally had been forced to stuff cotton into his delicate pointy ears to get any sleep at all. Not that it had helped much, though. He looked quite tired as he summoned his daughters for a family meeting that morning. But, because he was an elf, he looked tired in a very elegant manner.

“Dear Daughters,” said Elrond, looking around at his offspring. And he had to admit that, even though he had to squint not to get blinded by the way some girls’ hair would shine in the morning sun, he did not feel as proud of his daughters as he had wished.

“You are all now young women, and I have raised you all as well as I could,” he continued. But he thought to himself; _“I wish indeed that I had taken that offer and sent them all off to boarding schools while I still had the chance!”_

“However, I find now that I can’t keep you all here. There is a world out there waiting to be explored... ( _And may Eru forgive me for sending this upon that poor world_ )”

By now, some of the girls looked slightly interested. Not at all as interested as they would have been if he would have told them that he was about to get cable-TV installed, but still interested.

“And I wish you all to go out into that world and to seek your luck! It would be great, in fact, if you all wanted to leave today! I wouldn’t mind! Not at all! ( _Sweet Eru, I really do need to get some sleep!_ ) Not the kind of daddy who watches over his daughters and won’t let them see the world, me!”

But to Elrond’s disappointment, none of the girls seemed to take this as an exhortation. Instead, they seemed to have lost interest somewhere mid-sentence. Probably because the sentence hadn’t contained any announcements of new dresses being made. Or announcements of new young men having arrived... wait, that was it, was it not? And maybe... an idea as brilliant as it was simple hit Elrond hard in the head, leaving a cruel smile on his lips. _“Let’s see how you like this one,”_ he thought.

“And because of all the gorgeous yet dangerous and quite thrilling men out there in the world,” he said, noting with satisfaction that nearly every girl’s attention was caught for sure this time.

“I will strongly recommend that you all stay here, in our safe though somewhat boring home. I _insist_ that you all stay here. I forbid, you hear that, I _forbid_ any attempt of running away from home and meeting handsome strangers and getting into wonderful adventures. You all got that? Fine! Good day!” Elrond exclaimed, and trotted off. Hiding behind a pillar, he then overheard the following conversation:

“What? He can’t do that! He can’t stop us from going on wonderful adventures!” cried one Mary Sue, her eyes changing from blue to purple as she raged.

“And all the handsome strangers just waiting for us to be their luck! What gives him the right to stop us?!” wailed another.

“He is like, the meanest daddy ever!” whined a young maiden with hair as pale as moonlight.

“Well, he won’t stop me! I’m sure up for some adventures!” said the one who’d spoken first, adjusting her dress.

“And some men!” answered the girl next to her. This seemed to be a signal of some sort.

“Yeah, don’t forget about the men!”

“Like, duh, who would, anyway?!”

“I wanna get at least five!”

“That’s _all_?!”

And as one, the Mary Sues broke up and spread out, each one heading towards her room to pack.

Behind the pillar, Elrond sniggered.

That night, a tense silence filled Rivendell. Some of the girls had simply sneaked away during the day, riding off in a nonchalant manner, as if they went out on horseback every day. Which, in fact, most of them did. But none of them seemed to realize this anymore. However, most girls had waited for darkness to come. Presumably because a really dramatic flight can’t be performed other than by night. And as darkness came, muffled voices and various mysterious sounds were heard as the Mary Sues sneaked out and ran off.

It was all over by midnight. Some went by themselves, some together. Some went in the company of men who adored them, because those guys tend to come in handy in adventures.

Elrond the Tailor snored happily in his bed. The moon and the stars watched over him. And possibly, the Valar watched him, too, and watched the horror which he and he alone had released upon Middle Earth.

And the Mary Sues poured out of Rivendell, and into the night.

*******

**Author's note:**  
"The 101 Dalmatians" belongs to Disney.  



	2. In which Galadriel takes action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crossover of sorts, LoTR/101 Dalmatians. Elronds 101 gorgeous daughters happens to Middle Earth. At once. Anything man-like, be it elf, dwarf or... well, man, would do anything to obey them. The whole world gets OOC. In despair, or in some cases, out of boredom, the characters you know travel towards Rivendell. Will they manage to save the world before it is too late? Or are they all doomed?

_Elrond Halfelven the Tailor had 101 daughters. They were all extremely gorgeous, and they were all getting on his nerves. So he sent them away, to seek their luck in the world. And the daughters, who were known as The Mary Sues, obeyed his will (even though they did not know this. If they’d known, they’d have never obeyed.) and went out into the world._

 

 

All but one, that is. Arwen, who was Elrond’s youngest daughter, could not be seduced by her cunning father. By her father’s cunning _mind_ , that is. That is, not that he tried to seduce her in any other way. No. Nope. No way. This isn’t _that_ kind of story. Unless, of course, you’d really _want_ it to be. But I’ll leave that up to your own imagination.

Anyway, Arwen had made up her mind about staying in Rivendell. And she was quite stubborn. So, because she was the only one left, and because her bedroom wasn’t really anywhere near Elrond’s bedroom (but instead quite a distance away, since this was a huge house. 102 bedrooms, for a start. _And_ separate bathrooms), he’d agreed to let her stay. As long as the young men who’d sing for her at night wouldn’t interrupt his sleep, he didn’t really mind that much.

And so the years flew by. A lot of them, in fact. Not that it mattered, really, they _were_ elves, after all. Elrond worked as usual. Young men hung around as usual. Not as many as there used to be, though. _One_ gorgeous elf-maiden can’t actually support a staff as huge as 101 gorgeous elf-maidens can. And then Arwen met this really dashing guy, who was actually quite hot, as she told her father. After that, she didn’t pay the other guys much attention anymore. And so they disappeared.

Elrond thought that was jolly good, as he wouldn’t have to worry too much about his roses being crushed by hopeful young men falling down from the balconies whilst trying to sing love-songs to his daughter.

And, to make his life even more filled with joy, Arwen picked up an interest in sewing, especially embroidery. Everything was as good as it could possibly get in Elrond’s world. And he’d never slept better.

In the rest of the world, however, things were not so great. They weren’t great at all.

Frankly, it was all a mess. Warriors refused to go to war. A great number of villains were suddenly transformed into all around good guys, speaking to the puzzled crowd of peace and love. And the Riders of Rohan claimed to have found their superiors, and who needed a horse after that, anyway? Rumor said that The Dark Lord Sauron was making new rings. Wedding rings.

Such it was when Galadriel, Mistress of fair Lothlórien, realized that she really needed a new coat.

***

Galadriel sure was a handsome lady. “Far more enticing than the birds all in the air, I declare”, as Celeborn once put it. Not much of a poet, Celeborn. But at least he had the looks, which _is_ important. Galadriel couldn’t be seen with just _anybody_ , she needed someone who’d fit her image. And Celeborn was OK. Not perfect, but OK. And, Galadriel figured, OK would do just fine. After all, his purpose was mainly to flank her, escort her to parties and make sure her glass was filled. Yeah, Celeborn was OK.

On this specific day, he was supposed to have been escorting her to yet another nice party, which had been advertised as “The most spectacular feast in the Third Age! Everyone will be there!” And, in this case, ‘Everyone’ would be Galadriel. Being the most important, and better yet, the most beautiful, elf in Lothlórien, she ought to have been there. But then a bunch of her granddaughters had showed up.

_“Grandchildren,”_ thought Galadriel angrily, _“Ought to be forbidden.”_

Not only had they ferreted about in her bathroom, used her perfume and eaten of her private chocolates, they had called her _Granny_. And this, Galadriel felt, was way over the top. They had also tried to seduce about every male in Lothlórien. Not only had they been quite successful, which was mildly disturbing, they had also included Celeborn in these attempts. That was just _wrong_. And frankly, Galadriel didn’t want to think about it.

So there wouldn’t be a party. There simply wasn’t anyone sane enough to organize it. The men were nowhere to be found (that is, it would have been far too much embarrassment to actually _find_ any of them for anyone to volunteer to and go and have a look), and the women were raving. The evening was _spoiled_. And Galadriel really wasn’t happy about this. She _liked_ parties.

She ought to have a word with that sloppy son-in-law she’d got.

Galadriel had never really understood what Celebrían had seen in him, anyway. Couldn’t have been much, though, as she had left.

On second thought, that might just have been because of those awful daughters they’d gotten. Galadriel suspected that they’d both been into far too much weed out there in the wilderness. She had been visiting Rivendell briefly quite a while ago, when most of the girls were still children. They had been pulling her hair. And when she’d pulled back, they’d yelled for mummy. Spoiled kids, in every meaning you could possibly fit into the word.

She hadn’t liked them then, and she certainly didn’t like them now. And they were _all over the place_!

Galadriel had received tidings from Mirkwood, and also from the rest of the world, through her mirror. She knew that something bad was going on. And Galadriel wasn’t happy about this, either. Bad things shouldn’t happen to her. Bad things should happen to other people.

Since the party was off in any case, she decided she might as well have that nice little Mother-in-law-addressing-Son-in-law-chat right ahead. She could not, however, solve this by using her mental powers to communicate with Elrond. The Mary Sues were, after all (though Galadriel tried to deny it) related to her, and quite a few had inherited some of those mental gifts. And even though those were mainly used for seduction, ( _“What a terrible waste,”_ as Galadriel reflected) well, you never knew. So she decided to go to Rivendell in person. The sooner the better.

_“And anyway, I really do deserve a vacation,”_ she thought, as she packed her saddle-bags in a hurry and rode off rather abruptly.

She didn’t bother to find Celeborn and tell him. He would probably be OK. He knew how to run. And if he didn’t... well, she knew a few tricks to make him run. And to _keep_ him running.

***

The day Galadriel arrived at Rivendell, the sun was shining and birds were singing in every bush. If the birds would have known what Galadriel knew, they wouldn’t have been singing. Galadriel knew many things, since she’d been around for quite a while. As a matter of fact, if the birds _had_ known what Galadriel knew, they would have been able to run a quite successful gossip-magazine, since it is in birds’ natures to enlighten the rest of the world about everything that turns up in their heads.

You can hear the birds sing, sure. But have you ever actually listened to the _lyrics_?!

No, it was indeed fortunate that Galadriel never shared her thoughts with the birds. Middle Earth didn’t need birds singing of how Mithrandir once overdosed on pipe-weed and tried to blow up Orthanc with fireworks. Curunír sure had been surprised.

Yes, those secrets remained Galadriel’s. Made her smile whenever she saw the old bloke.

***

Arwen, who was out in the garden, feeding the birds, was the first one who noticed the guest.

“Grandma!” she exclaimed, happily.

Galadriel made a face. _Grandma_ was not as bad as _Granny_ , but, still.

“Hello, child,” she said, hoping that this somewhat formal greeting would put things straight. She sized up the girl suspiciously, with the sisters in mind. This one didn’t seem too bad, though. She was gorgeous, sure. But at least she wasn’t wearing a chain-mail bikini. Where _did_ those girls get ideas like that, anyway, Galadriel mused, as Arwen chatted on about how she’d love to show Galadriel some new embroidery of hers. Dragging her grandmother by the hand, she showed her into the house and set of to find her father, after carefully shaking out the last pieces of bread for the birds.

Arwen was, unlike her grandmother, the kind of girl who spent a lot of time sharing her thoughts with the birds. Luckily enough, the birds never actually listened. They seldom do. And, imagining a gossip-magazine containing nothing but Aragorn’s kissing technique, Aragorn’s manly chest and Aragorn’s many manly skills, (Which, we would have learned, were many indeed) I think that’s just as well.

***

Elrond was surprised. He was also slightly worried. Galadriel seldom left Lothlórien, and if she did, it was because of urgent matters. She _had_ explained that her main reason for visiting was because she wanted a new coat, but Elrond wasn’t satisfied. He could smell trouble. (Which, in fact, is quite impressive. Even for an elf.)

So after dinner, he invited Galadriel into his chambers for a private chat. And to get to know which kind of coat she wanted.

Galadriel eyed the patterns which lay on the table, while Elrond poured them both some wine. She picked up a couple of interesting models for further study, and settled down in one of the comfortable chairs by the window. She glanced at Elrond, who was still standing.

“A bit tense, are we, dear Elrond?” she asked.

“Tense? Me? Well, why, indeed?” said Elrond hurriedly, and took a seat in the opposite chair.

“No, that’s what I thought. Why?” said Galadriel, smiling.

Elrond looked utterly confused. Then he tried a different track;

“I trust you’re all well in fair Lothlórien?”

Galadriel smiled and handed him one of the patterns.

“I want this one,” she said, before answering;

“Oh, we’re all fine. Some more than others, I fear, but still. Oh, and speaking of which, some of your _lovely_ daughters paid us a visit recently.”

Elrond hesitated. Was this good?

“Really, now wasn’t that nice. And this was recently, you say?” he mumbled.

“Quite so. As a matter of fact, I think they’re still there,” Galadriel replied.

“Um. Well. So. What... which material would you like your coat made out of?” Elrond tried.

“You know, I haven’t really made up my mind about that,” said Galadriel absent-mindedly. Elrond looked relieved. However, that expression didn’t get the chance to settle down on his face for too long. As she leant forward, Galadriel hissed;

“ _Dear_ Elrond, have you got _any_ idea of what these girls act like?!”

Before Elrond had a chance to reply to that, she continued;

“They _used my mirror_ for doing their _make-up_! They have turned a great number of men into drooling horny _vegetables_! Do you realize what _consequences_ this may bring?!”

Elrond looked down, ashamed. All he’d ever wanted was to get some sleep. Oh, and a bathtub. Maybe a new sewing-machine. Small things, really. He surely hadn’t deserved this!

“No, maybe you haven’t,” said Galadriel, reading his mind. “Nevertheless, the problem is now upon us! The age of the Mary Sues is about to begin if you don’t _do_ anything!”

“What would you have me do, then? They _are_ my daughters, you know. Even though I don’t like them much. And anyway, they won’t listen to me! They never did! How would you expect me to stop them?!” Elrond wailed.

Galadriel leaned back in her chair and thought hard.

“Well,” she said, eventually, “Have they got any weak spots? What are they interested in, anyway, except for men?”

Elrond shook his head. “Were you thinking of some sort of agreement? There is nothing we could offer them that they can’t have anyway. For Valar’s sake, all they’ve ever been interested in is men and fashion! Beauty and sex!!!” Elrond’s voice reached a crescendo during that last sentence. Galadriel was impressed. She’d never known he could take such high tones. Then she went back to pondering.

And there they were, two of the foremost elves in all of Middle Earth, sitting silently in their chairs whilst trying to solve this problem.

Eventually, a knock on the door interrupted their deep thoughts. Which were about to become deep snores, in Elrond’s case. Galadriel didn’t snore. At least not in public.

Arwen entered, carrying a toothbrush and a blanket.

“Hello! I just wanted to wish you a good night! Daddy, I’m gonna stay at Aragorn’s tonight, just thought you’d like to know!” she said happily.

“I can’t understand why he insists on sleeping in a _tent_ in the _garden_ instead of in the house,” Elrond said, yawning.

“But _daddy_! He’s a _ranger_! Duh! Besides, sleeping in a tent in the _house_ would be daft!” said Arwen, and kissed her father on the cheek before trotting off.

Galadriel watched her go. She had to admit, that Arwen wasn’t at all as bad as her sisters. She was actually quite all right. And then realization dawned. She sat upright in her chair, and if she’d been living in another universe she might have shouted ‘Eureka!’. But she wasn’t. So she didn’t. And, besides, Galadriel never shouted.

“Elrond! What are your daughters interested in?!” she said, eagerly.

“I thought we’d been through that already...” Elrond began, but Galadriel wasn’t listening.

“Elrond,” she said, with a wicked smile, “I think... I think that you should call a council.”

“What? A council?!” said Elrond, who was now awake, but very confused.

“Exactly,” Galadriel answered.

“Oh,” she added, “And I’ve made up my mind about which material I want you to use for my coat.”


	3. In which a Council is called

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crossover of sorts, LoTR/101 Dalmatians. Elronds 101 gorgeous daughters happens to Middle Earth. At once. Anything man-like, be it elf, dwarf or... well, man, would do anything to obey them. The whole world gets OOC. In despair, or in some cases, out of boredom, the characters you know travel towards Rivendell. Will they manage to save the world before it is too late? Or are they all doomed?

_Elrond Halfelven had 101 daughters. They were known as the Mary Sues, and they had become a threat to Middle Earth. Someone ought to do something about it._

 

 

And, as Elrond had found out, this someone was expected to be him. Encouraged (and a bit threatened) by his mother-in-law, Galadriel, he set out to summon a Council. And not just any council. This council, which would later on be known as The Council of Him Who We All Blame, was to take place as soon as possible, a.k.a as soon as everybody had got his ass over there. Which had better be soon, since Rumour said that the Mary Sues were planning to marry the most important (and sexy) guys they could possible lay hands on. This would mean Kings, Princes and elven Lords. And a dragon, said Rumour.

Rumour is not always to be trusted though, mind you. But then again, who knows which talents a dragon might have in bed? Hm. That might, however, be a tale better unfinished.

Anyway, Elrond had sent messengers to all of the free people of Middle Earth. Those would arrive soon. Salvation was on its way.

This was not going to be just any council. Galadriel had a _plan_.

***

Faramir, son of Denethor, was having a dream. It was the strangest dream he’d ever had, and it was really creepy.

_“I am the dream you’ve sought to catch, the breeze which will kiss your forehead. I am the wine which will ease your thirst, the love you’ve long wished to find!” said a soft voice. Faramir looked around, but the one who’d spoken was nowhere to be seen._

_“Hello?” he called out, “Where are you?”_

_“The lady whom you’ll crown as your Queen! Come to me, my love!” the voice sang._

_“Er... queen? I’m not a king, you know,” said Faramir. He turned around again, but he still couldn’t see anything._

_The voice went silent, but there were some muffled noise coming from... somewhere. Finally, someone said;_

_“Say again, please?”_

_This, Faramir noticed, was a different voice than the first. He tried to peer into the soft darkness, which surrounded him._

_“I said; I’m not a king. I’m not even a steward. I am, in fact, the Steward’s younger son. Er... sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong person,” he said, eventually._

_This caused a lot of excitement. The voices started to argue, and Faramir listened, in terrified fascination;_

_“I told you so! I told you!” one voice hissed._

_“Well, yeah, blame me, huh? I said, let’s try the older guy, I said, but would anyone listen? Noooo!” another answered._

_“Well, but excuse me for preferring the younger, I thought you said you did, too!” said the first._

_“Yes, but...”, the other started, but was interrupted by a new voice coming out of the nowhereness;_

_“Faramir, man of my desires, come to me, my love, and let me make you a happy man,” it said._

_There was a silence. Then the first voice said;_

_“Isëablérion? Is that you?!”_

_There was a new silence._

_“Malivária! What are you doing here?” the newest voice finally said._

_“And Rapúnzelidion, mind you, and anyway, we were here first!” said one of the other voices._

_“You mean I was here first,” said the one which would be Malivária angrily._

_“Hey, we’re in this together!” hissed the one which would be Rapúnzeidion._

_“But I saw him first! I know I did,” Malivária hissed back._

_This was followed by some hissing and whispering out of earshot, and Faramir wondered whether this was where the dancing oliphaunts he’d heard of would appear. And then yet another voice slipped into his mind, as sweet as honey;_

_“Faramir, my love, fly away with me and love me forever, and I’ll be your-...” it managed, before it was interrupted by a chorus;_

_“Bugger off! We were here first!”_

_Faramir tried to cover his ears, and realized that this didn’t work, since it was a dream._

_“But I wanted to take him home to Imladris,” one voice whimpered._

_Faramir made an effort, and tried to wake up._

 

 

Faramir opened his eyes and stared into the ceiling. He thought he could hear those voices mumble in his mind, still, but far away now, like echoes.

_“Damn it, we lost his attention!”_

_“Yeah, like it was my fault!”_

_“I hate you!”_

He shivered. That nightmare had been... well, scary. He got out of bed and put some clothes on. He couldn’t sleep after a dream like that. Those voices had been... seductive, yes, but not in a nice way. And, considering how insanity tended to run in the family, Faramir felt that he did have reason to worry. He needed to talk to someone, so he lit a candle and went over to his brother’s chamber.

Boromir was asleep, but he turned around and moved his lips as if he was talking to someone. His eyebrows frowned, and then his lips moved again.

“No. No... I... _What_? _No_ , I’m...” he mumbled.

Faramir shivered again. It was cold, he told himself, as he reached out and shook his brother’s arm.

Boromir sat upright in his bed and stared blankly at his brother. Faramir looked back, vigilantly. He thought he could hear something again, just out of earshot. It sounded like;

_“Crap!!!”_

“Hey, you had a bad dream, I think...” he said.

Boromir blinked, and then he nodded.

“Yes,” he said, eventually, “A bad dream. Sure. Dream.” He looked relieved.

“Only that...” Faramir hesitated. “It _was_ a dream, right?”

“What?” Boromir grunted.

“Well,... I, I just don’t think it actually was a dream.” Faramir said.

“How do you mean?” Boromir asked, “It seemed dreamy enough to me, what with the voices and all...” his own voice faded away.

“Hm. Yes. About those voices...” said Faramir. “I just think that... well, I kinda’ had the same dream. I think,” he added.

Boromir looked concerned. He, too, was aware of the meteorite of insanity, which seemed to be quite attracted to their father’s gravity. Dreaming odd dreams was never a good sign.

“So... you’re sure about that?” he asked, “I mean, we _are_ talking about the dream with the voices which were sort of... um...”

“ _Arguing_ ,” Faramir said. “Yes, that would be the one. Totally creeped me out!”

Boromir moved his feet and urged his brother to have a seat. Faramir sat down on the bed and sighed.

“So... Any idea of what to do?” he asked.

Boromir thought about this. Eventually, he recalled something from the dream.

“I thought I heard them mentioning a place,” he said. “Or possibly a name. Could have been a name.”

“What was it, then?” Faramir asked.

“Ima-something or other. Imaraldis? Iramis?” Boromir mused.

“Imladris!” Faramir exclaimed, happily. “But what is that?” he added, a bit puzzled.

“Let’s go to the library and have a look!” Boromir suggested.

And so it came to be, that the sons of Gondor left their home the following day, and went on a journey to Imladris, also known as The Home of Him Who We All Blame.

***

Elrond looked around at the men who were gathered in the hall. He nodded to himself. They would do. He rose from his chair, and exchanged a glance with Galadriel, who smiled at him and nodded approvingly. Elrond cleared his throat.

“Friends of old and friends of new,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention towards him.

“We are here today to make decisions and to make plans. Some of you have been summoned, some have come to seek advice and answers,” he continued.

Faramir and Boromir glanced at each other.

“And answers are what I’ve got to offer,” Elrond carried on. “We, that is to say, _I_ have, um... ”

Galadriel stood up.

“Allow me,” she said. Elrond nodded unhappily.

“Ill tidings have come from most of you, about the state of your countries. All is not well in Middle Earth,” said Galadriel. She was interrupted by a small voice;

“ _I_ thought it went on quite well until Rosie walked into the room and yelled at me”.

Galadriel glanced down.

“I mean, I didn’t know she’d be back so soon, or else I would have... ”

“Silence, Samwise,” said an old man, dressed up in gray robes. “It is not polite to interrupt when a lady speaks!”

“Sorry, Gandalf,” Sam mumbled.

“As I said,” Galadriel continued, “Middle Earth is under a threat. Men act like morons and women like madmen!”

“Madwomen”, said Elrond.

“Whatever.” Galadriel snapped. “My point is, we can’t have this. No one acts normally, which includes the Rulers of the Free Countries! If nothing is done, the world will come crashing down like a... a...”

“Like a pie?” one of the hobbits suggested.

“Fool of a Took, how often do you have pies coming crashing down on you?!” said Gandalf.

“It happens,” Pippin, for it was he, said calmly.

“Now you’ve made me hungry,” said Merry.

“Order!” Elrond groaned.

Galadriel sighed. “Call it what you want, that is not the point. The point is that it _will_.” she said.

Boromir raised a hand. Galadriel looked at him and frowned.

“Is this a question about pie?” she demanded.

Boromir hesitated. “Well, no. But then again, if you’ve got some... I mean...” he tried.

“No questions about food answered,” said Elrond firmly.

“How about drinks?” Pippin asked.

“No!” Galadriel hissed.

“Just checking!” said the hobbit.

Faramir cleared his throat and stood up.

“I think,” he said, “that what my brother meant to ask was something like ‘ _why_ is the world suddenly all messed up?’ We come here from Gondor, mind you, and we’ve both had some very frightening dreams, mainly about young women trying to seduce us. _I_ , for one, find this a bit concerning.”

“Don’t you _like_ young wom-...” Pippin started, but was shut down as Frodo firmly placed his hands over Pippin’s mouth.

Elrond sighed deeply.

“Yes,” he said, “It is indeed concerning. These young women, you see, exist not only in you dreams, but are real. And they’re man-eaters.”

This was followed by a confused silence, during which most part of the Council tried to put an equal sign between ‘Young women’ and ‘Cannibal’.

“A woman who really likes men,” Galadriel clarified, eventually. This resulted in some muttering, as the Council tried to specify the word ‘ _likes_ ’.

One hour later, they decided to just drop the question.

“So,” asked Faramir, “Who are these women? Which evil force has set them loose?”

“Er...” said Elrond, who was growing uncomfortably red, “That would have been me, I’m afraid...”

The Council gawped at him.

“You _what_?!” Boromir growled.

Elrond looked unhappy.

“Look, I’m sorry, OK? It was just that I, you know, wanted to... well, I, that is, when...” he stammered.

“ _You_ of all elves created this evil?” said an elf known as Legolas, seizing Elrond fiercely. “What were you _thinking_?!”

“You... you _created_ them?” whispered Merry, in shock.

“Um, yeah, sort of.” Elrond mumbled.

“By magic?” Gandalf asked.

“No, not exactly. You see, they are my... my daughters.” Elrond quaked.

He was, again, met by silence. Only this time, the silence was of the kind that _speaks_. And what the silence said was this;

_“You Bastard!!!”_

“Now, now,” said Galadriel after a while. “All is not lost. We’ve got a plan, but we need your help. That’s why we’ve called upon you”.

“Why should we help you? You were the ones who let them loose in the first place!” said Gimli, who’d been chosen to represent the dwarves, since he was a handsome guy by dwarven standards. “We dwarves don’t trust elves.” he continued, “And especially not the Witch of the Golden Forest, whom in dwarven tongue is known as ‘ _deVille_ ’!”

“Please understand me, I just wanted some sleep,” Elrond moaned, but no one paid him much attention.

Galadriel looked around her and straightened up in a very graceful and elflike manner.

“Each and every one of you is known to be _the_ most popular man in each of your countries and species,” she said. “We’ve called for your aid to set a trap. The only thing these Mary Sues desire is _men_. Handsome men. That’s what _you_ are, and that’s why you’re _here_. Now, what say you?”

There was a pause, as the men looked around at each other. But this time, the silence seemed to be a rather flattered one. Finally, Éomer of Rohan spoke up;

“Aye, says I. Rohan isn’t at its best, even without the trouble the Mary Sues have caused us. Those matters need to be taken care of. That requires men who can pay attention to politics instead of sex. You’ve got my aid.”

Legolas stood up. “And you’ve got my looks,” he said.

“And my rough manliness,” said Gimli.

“And our adorableness,” said Frodo, who spoke for all the hobbits.

Faramir looked at Boromir, who nodded.

“You’ve got our aid, as well,” he said.

Yes, all of the Council proved to be loyal in this. As they all settled down again, Elrond said to Galadriel;

“Now, would you pray tell us your plan?”

Galadriel smiled and turned towards the rest of the Council.

“I have a dream,” she said. “I want my son-in-law, Elrond the Tailor, to make me a coat. And I wish it to be made out of _the hair of The Mary Sues_!”


	4. In which the Sues goes west

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crossover of sorts, LoTR/101 Dalmatians. Elronds 101 gorgeous daughters happens to Middle Earth. At once. Anything man-like, be it elf, dwarf or... well, man, would do anything to obey them. The whole world gets OOC. In despair, or in some cases, out of boredom, the characters you know travel towards Rivendell. Will they manage to save the world before it is too late? Or are they all doomed?

_The horror known as The Mary Sues was about to take over Middle Earth. Darkness and despair filled the hearts of those who could see it coming. Then an alliance was made between elves and men. And dwarves. And hobbits. And hey, don’t forget about the wizard. Anyway, these were the brave who stood up against the Mary Sues._

The fair elf-maiden Rapúnzelidion rode through the forest, singing a happy song about happy things while her eyes searched the bushes. Her sister Malivária, who rode behind her, made an ugly face.

“You don’t think-...” she began.

Rapúnzelidion waved a hand impatiently at her, a sign to remain silent. She started to sing a little bit louder. The song was in elvish, and it went something like this;

_“All the pretty butterflies_  
Dancing in the sunlight  
Are they not sweet?  
Oh, yes, so sweet  
Dance little butterfly  
Sweet sweet butterfly  
Dancing in the sunlight...” 

Rapúnzelidion had a beautiful singing-voice, which was known all over Middle Earth by now. Her repertoire was rather dull, though. But still, even the animals would come out of their hidings to listen to the wonderful tones of her songs.

One cute fuzzy bunny had chosen this very moment to do just that. It sat right there in the sunlight, charmed by the lovely tune. It wrinkled its nose and thought;

“I am a happy bunny, indeed, to get to listen to this lovely tune.”

Something went _Sswissssh_. And then the bunny’s world changed rather abruptly, and faded away.

Rapúnzelidion got off her horse and picked up the late bunny, which had been nailed to the ground by a perfectly aimed arrow. She looked around.

“Well, this is a place as good as any. We might as well camp here,” she said.

Malivária got off her horse. “It was about time you got something, I was about to starve to death!” she grunted.

Rapúnzelidion looked critically at her sister. “I don’t think you could have suffered _that_ much from waiting,” she said.

“Shut up!” Malivária snapped. She waved her hair. It reflected the sunlight and shone like gold as it hung down to heir waist.

Rapúnzelidion smiled wryly at her and pulled out her knife. She begun to skin the bunny as Malivária watched in horrified fascination.

“It’s so _messy_!” she said and curled her lip.

“Why don’t you get a fire going?” Rapúnzelidion suggested.

“Oh, well.” Malivária sighed, and looked at a fallen tree. It burst into flames under her gaze.

Rapúnzelidion glared at her. “Might as well set the whole forest on fire, hm?”

Malivária shrugged. “I _could_ , you know,” she said. “After all, it’s not _my_ forest.”

Rapúnzelidion thought hard about this. “No, that’s true,” she said, eventually. “I would prefer it though, if you didn’t set fire to it while I’m still in it.”

“Deal,” said Malivária.

***

In Rohan, home of the Horse Lords, things weren’t, as earlier pointed out, at their best. Nothing was taken cared of these days, and no one seemed to be doing anything important. Well, that is to say, breeding a new population might _seem_ important, but the point is, you can’t keep doing it all the time.

OK, so maybe you _can_. The point is that you _shouldn’t_.

Gríma Wormtongue, councillor of Théoden king, was not very happy about this. He wasn’t, in fact, ever really happy about _anything_ , but he specifically wasn’t happy about _this_.

Gríma was concerned. This wasn’t because he was a loyal servant, who cared for the country and worried whenever something went wrong. He wasn’t exactly a loyal servant. He was more of a disloyal servant. Quite frankly, Gríma Wormtongue was a traitor, who plotted against the country and wished it no good.

But that was just the _point_. Gríma didn’t really care about Rohan. That’s what got him into the whole traitor-business in the first place. But nowadays, _nobody_ seemed to care about Rohan. And plotting just wasn’t _fun_ anymore.

He didn’t know what to do. He’d never had much spare time, and when he had any, he’d used it for plotting. But now, there was nothing left to plot against. Everyone who stood against him had hurried off somewhere to praise those young ladies who had arrived not too long ago. He hadn’t really paid much attention to them at first, and then, when he did, it had been too late. They were everywhere.

Gríma settled down on the empty throne, just to do something. He did have a reputation as an evil advisor to live up to, and he had already tried on the crown and the king’s cloak. He had looked into a mirror, and realized that the crown kept sliding down into his face. So he’d put it back on the empty throne. The king was probably of dancing with the elves. In a manner of speaking. Gríma shrugged.

Some time passed. Everything was quiet. And peaceful. And extremely _dull_. He had just decided that he’d have a go with the crown again, just for the hell of it, when something finally happened.

What happened was this; the door burst open and daylight poured into the hall. Gríma shadowed his eyes. A young woman stepped in, moving with feline grace. Gríma recognized her as one of the elf-maidens. She stepped forward, and her brows frowned slightly as she set eyes on Gríma.

“You be the king?” she asked in a smooth, yet demanding voice.

Gríma realized that he was wearing the crown. Then he thought _“What the heck”_ and said;

“Um, yes. Sure. That is to say, yes, we be the king.”

The woman gave him a critical glance, and then she shrugged. “I seek Éomer, who is said to be the most handsome man in all of Rohan,” she said.

“Is he?” Gríma said, before he could stop himself. “I mean, er, young Éomer is not in Edoras for the moment. Can I take a message?” he added, hoping for something to plot against.

“Where is he?” asked the elf and put her hands on her delicate hips. “I will not leave until you tell me of his current residence!”

Gríma watched her, slightly dazed, while he considered the benefits of him not telling and her not leaving. Then he spotted the slender crossbow which was attached to her belt, and thought better of it. Pity, though. She sure was attractive.

“He got a message. Some sort of gathering, to which he was called. In Rivendell, I think it was,” he said instead.

The elf-lady’s expression changed, and a smile as bright as the sun blinded Gríma for a moment.

“How very nice! I shall be on my way then,” she said and turned towards the door. Then something occurred to her, and she turned back to him.

“Oh, and if any of my sisters would ask for _dear_ Éomer, you wouldn’t tell them where to _find_ him, would you?” she looked slightly concerned.

“Well, no, of course not,” Gríma reassured her.

She smiled again and strode away. Gríma thought for two seconds, and then picked a small silver bell out of his pocket. He rang the bell. He waited. Then two men stepped out from a side door and approached him. Gríma smiled, and whispered an order.

The two men looked at him, and then at each other. Then, they trotted off. They weren’t paid to ask questions.

Gríma sighed, but this time, it was a happier sigh.

The Mary Sues had all left Rohan before midnight.

_“Ah,”_ thought Gríma, _“Good old plotting!”_

***

Saruman the White had received a gift. It was a puppy. The giver, a young elf-maiden named Bëowulfiária, or Bëw for short, had draped her slender body on the divan in his library. She was dressed, or undressed, depending on which angle you’d view her from, in layers of white lace, slightly transparent, which decorated her body like would a golden frame decorate a masterpiece of artworks.

Saruman wasn’t really sure of what this gift was supposed to mean. He wasn’t sure why this young lady had come here, either. She was... well, _wondrous_ was a word that came to mind. But Saruman didn’t really feel comfortable with that word. He tried _handsome_. No. That was not it.

Finally, he settled for _pretty_. It was close enough and it didn’t make him sweat. He looked down at the puppy again.

“What did you say its name was?” he asked.

“Spot,” she whispered.

Saruman swallowed. This girl was strange, indeed. She had this way of making even the simplest word sound... _naughty_.

“Oh,” he said.

The puppy lived up to his name by leaving one on the carpet.

“Um,” said Saruman, “Could you perhaps make it... er... not doing that?”

Bëw leaned forward and hissed;

“ _Bad_ doggy!”

Spot whimpered, and Saruman felt an urgent need to do likewise. He fought it down. Bëw leaned back in a graceful manner and smiled at him.

“It’s all about commands, you know. One can teach them to do almost anything.”

“Really? Like what?” Saruman asked.

“Oh, this and that,” said Bëw vaguely. “Now, why don’t you come here and I’ll teach _you_ a thing or two?”

Saruman looked at Spot the dog and thought for a moment.

“Fetch a book for me,” he tried.

Spot wagged his tail happily.

“No, not like that. You have got to make it short orders, like ‘sit’,” Bëw said. “Now, we can play with the dog later. I had a _different_ game in mind...” she left the sentence hanging in the air. She didn’t gain the effect she’d hoped for.

“Sit,” said Saruman.

Spot sat down. He remained seated for almost three seconds, then he jumped up and did the tail-thingy again.

“He obeyed my will!” Saruman exclaimed, “This will be so much _fun_!”

Bëw watched him in disbelief. Never before had she failed like this! She had hoped for a successful seduction and a place at the top, knowing that Saruman was the most powerful wizard in Middle Earth. It had been a great plan. But now, Spot the dog didn’t seem to be such a great idea.

She glared at the puppy. Spot wagged his tail at her. Bëowulfiária raised her pretty foot to kick the dog, but Saruman spotted it.

“You intend to _hurt_ my gift?!” he called out.

Bëw looked up, truly overcome by indignation.

“You raise your voice at me?” she asked in a frosty tone.

“You meant to _kick_ him! I _saw_ you!” Saruman yelled.

Bëw snorted. She would have none of this. She could find at least ten men who were _better_ than that wizard. And better _looking_. She got up and made sure to adjust her revealing dress carefully. Just to make sure that he’d see what he was missing.

“You have fun with your _dog_ , then,” she hissed and swept out of the room. “ _I’ll_ go find myself a _powerful_ man,” she added from the doorway.

And then she was gone.

Saruman shook his head. Then he called at Spot:

“Come, doggie doggie, come Spottie!”

And Spot came.

_“Power,”_ Saruman thought. He knew power all right. He could recognize it wherever it turned up.

“Spot, _Sit_!” said Saruman.

And Spot sat.

Saruman smiled.

_“Today the dog,”_ he thought. _“Tomorrow... the World!”_

***

The trap was set. Now, all they could do was wait. The Mary Sues would take their time, but they would come. And when they did... Oh, when they _did_ , their pretty faces wouldn’t be worth much. Oh no.

“They are on their way,” said Galadriel. “I can feel it. I feel it in the water. I can smell it in the air. But most of all, I feel it in the relieved sigh that comes from the lands The Mary Sues have abandoned.”

“We will be here, waiting for them”, said Legolas. “We will be ready.”


	5. The Scouring of Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crossover of sorts, LoTR/101 Dalmatians. Elronds 101 gorgeous daughters happens to Middle Earth. At once. Anything man-like, be it elf, dwarf or... well, man, would do anything to obey them. The whole world gets OOC. In despair, or in some cases, out of boredom, the characters you know travel towards Rivendell. Will they manage to save the world before it is too late? Or are they all doomed?

_They came from the hills, they seduced everybody in the land, the fire in their eyes; fear was a weapon in their hands. So we let them play, play our minds away... Now, Mary Sues, too long have you watched the men of Middle Earth, too long have you followed them around. The time has come when the world will fight back. There may come a day when Mary Sues rule Middle Earth. But it is not this day._

 

 

Beside the road, under a large oak which provided him with shadow, Frodo Baggins sat, peacefully smoking his pipe and turning the leaves in a book. The sun was shining, the birds singing; it was truly a beautiful day.

The hobbit looked up as he heard hoof-beats approaching. He put the book down carefully and mumbled, seemingly to himself;

“They are here.”

Two riders came out from the forest. The two were as different as night and day, since one was dark and the other fair. Naturally, they were both _fair_. It was just that one was blond and the other wasn’t. She who wasn’t had raven-black hair, and wore a dress the colour of midnight. Her sister wore the rosy colour of dawn. One was named Nocturnusiel and the other went by the name Auroralien. I _could_ tell you who is who, but then again, a little bewilderment just about here would really favour the tale. You may still guess, of course.

Anyway, out from the forest they rode. Frodo took a deep breath and stepped out in the middle of the road. Thus exposed he started to moan;

“Oh, waily waily, oh, woe is me!”

The elf-maidens halted, and watched him curiously. They had travelled far and wide, but never before had they seen such a creature as this.

“Oh, me, oh my,” Frodo continued. He stared at the women; eyes wide open, and added;

“Waily waily, woe!”

Nocturnusiel glanced at her sister and asked;

“Do you think it is a child?”

Auroralien shook her head thoughtfully. “Nay,” she said, “A child it is not. I have never seen the like of him.”

“If you have never seen the like, then how can you know that I’m not a--” Frodo began, before he could stop himself. “I mean, my, waily woe,” he said quickly.

“Little boy, why are you crying?” asked Nocturnusiel tenderly.

“Oh waily, I’m so wee, that’s a hobbit’s life for me,” wailed the hobbit.

Nocturnusiel looked confused. Meanwhile, Auroralien got off her horse and stepped forward. She reached out, intending to pat Frodo on the head, but the hobbit jumped away quickly.

“Oh, woe, what can a hobbit do,” he exclaimed and looked at her with huge, blue eyes.

Eyes so blue that Auroralien gasped. By now, Nocturnusiel had dismounted as well and strode forward.

“Here, let us help you,” she said.

Frodo contemplated her warily and took a small step towards her. Auroralien got down on her knees and called at him;

“Here, come here! Let’s have a little hug, shall we?” she smiled at him, eyes glittering.

“Indeed,” her sister agreed. “A hug to make you feel better?”

“Well,” said Frodo, “but you must promise not to touch my cute curly-haired feet or my cute curly hair...”

“Cute curly... –no, of course not,” Auroralien lied. _Not_ touching those cute curly-haired feet? But he would _like_ it! She would _make_ him like it! She smiled as tenderly as before, as did Nocturnusiel at her side.

Frodo looked from one to the other and moved closer, slowly... he stopped just out of reach and opened up his eyes as wide as he could.

“Waily...” he said, in a small voice.

The elf-maidens tried their best not to look too eager, but found this very hard.

“So... cute... must... _cuddle_!” Nocturnusiel hissed and stared at the hobbit.

“ _Must_... cuddle... fuzzy... feet!” Auroralien agreed.

As one, they threw themselves at Frodo. He whimpered adorably, and ran.

It was obvious that he wouldn’t make it. They were twice his size, twice his number and extremely determined to cuddle him.

Luckily, Frodo had twice the number of brain cells as they had. He ran as fast as he could towards the tree. Behind him, the elf-maidens smiled. He would never manage to climb that tree before they could get him. Frodo risked a glance over his shoulder and passed the oak. He could practically feel their breath on the back of his neck...

Then he heard their triumphant screams turn into ones of horror. He turned back and smiled broadly at the sight.

“Two already!” shouted Pippin from the treetop.

“Not as heavy as you’d expect, them elves,” said Merry, dropping down from the branches.

Frodo looked back to the furious elves who hung, tangled up in a net. They cursed and fought to get loose. Then they screamed again as Pippin cut the rope and they dropped to the ground with a thud.

“To bad we couldn’t leave them hanging there,” said Pippin as he came climbing down.

“Yes, indeed,” said Frodo.

“How can you do this to us? How _dare_ you?” Aururalien shouted.

“We are Lord Elrond’s daughters! I demand that you set us free _immediately_!” came the muffled voice of Nocturnusiel.

“No worries,” said Frodo dismissively. “Sam, will you take the horses?”

Sam, who’d been lurking in the bushes, took the reins. The three other hobbits grabbed the net and dragged it along the road towards Rivendell.

The protests from the beautiful elf-maidens scared off all the birds. Apparently, they had learned some rather dirty language on their journeys.

***

At a different location, Aragorn the manly ranger, he of many names (many of them moaned in privacy at night and therefore not known to us) was picking flowers. Many might argue that this task is not a proper ranger-thing to do, but those who say so are fools. Flowers might always come in handy; there are flowers that possess the power to hurt, and others which may heal. Strider had great knowledge of flowers.

It is said that flowers even have a language of their own. This is wrong. Flowers cannot speak. They can, however, have a meaning. And the meaning of the pretty bouquet Aragorn so tenderly was caressing was more or less “Come here, you yummy you, and let’s get groovy!”

Indeed, Arwen was a lass who knew the qualities of flowers and could read their language. Very well, their _meaning_.

Unfortunately, so could others. Aragorn does not know this yet. He is happily picking the flowers and sees not the figure behind him, hears not the sword that is drawn... not before it’s too late.

“What’s this, a ranger, caught off his guard?” said a smooth voice. Aragorn twitched as he felt the cold steel against his neck, and looked up.

A wondrous sight met his eyes as he did so, wondrous and yet frightening, since a giant sword tends to have that effect on people. An elf-maiden, tall and slender, a slight smile on her cherry-red lips, her golden hair in a long braid... Aragorn could hardly breathe. And then, when the elf-maiden withdrew her sword and he still couldn’t breathe, he felt slightly embarrassed.

“Er... hi,” he said, meekly.

She merely smiled at him. Then the flowers caught her attention. She contemplated them silently, and when she looked back at him, her smile was even wider.

“Really?” she said, “Well, why not...”

Aragorn looked in astonishment as she removed her sword-belt and let it fall onto the ground. She smiled at him, and reached down to remove his belt as well.

“Wait, I, Er...” he gasped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, and placed her hands at his hips. Aragorn was feeling rather uncomfortable with the situation. In order to sort it out, he said;

“I really don’t think this is a good idea”.

Her laugh was like silver bells, light and melodious. She threw her head back and let it out, as if asking the birds to join in. You’ll be surprised to know that they didn’t. Birds, as earlier pointed out, seldom listen to what people say to them. But the woman who watched the couple from a hide-out had spent many a day talking to the birds. And sometimes, even a bird can surprise you. They can be extremely loyal, for example.

The fair lady in Aragorn’s company didn’t pay attention to the birds’ absence, though. Maybe she should have. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her hands move softly upwards, until they came to a rest on Aragorn’s manly chest. She smiled and shook her head, as at a silly joke, and said;

“Not a good idea? I know.” Aragorn looked relieved, but this expression quickly faded as she continued;

“It is, in fact, an _excellent_ idea!” She then leant forward to kiss him. This action caused a lot of things to happen.

The first thing was that Aragorn stepped backwards, which made the woman lose her balance. In an attempt to regain it, she grabbed Aragorn’s arm, which made him drop the bouquet. Aragorn bent down to get it, and the elf-maiden tripped over him and fell in a heap as a furious Arwen dropped down from a tree and temporarily knocked her out.

Aragorn found himself sitting on the ground. As he looked up, he saw the two beautiful women circling around him, hissing at each other like cats. Arwen, sword in hand, was the first one to speak;

“What _exactly_ do you think you’re doing with my man?”

“ _Your_ man? Everybody’s man, sister dear, we have always shared them,” the other one snapped.

“So we did, Bëowulfiária,” said Arwen, “But things have changed around here!”

Bëowulfiária snorted. “Now have they really, little sister? Is it your place to tell me that I cannot have a man if I’d like?”

“Not _my_ man!” Arwen growled.

Aragorn had never seen her as magnificent as now, in her wrath. _He_ would not have challenged her, had he met her in this mood. Her sister didn’t seem impressed, though. She smiled condescendingly at Arwen and said;

“What would you do about it, _dear_ sister? You cannot kill me, not your own kin, and you could never beat me in a swordfight.” She seated herself next to Aragorn and smiled evilly at her sister.

“You have been warned,” said Arwen, “keep your hands _off my man_!”

Bëowulfiária leant closer to Aragorn and said;

“Come and claim him!” She planted a kiss on Aragorn’s lips... or at least she meant to, but he jerked away so that the kiss actually landed on his nose.

“Come and claim him,” she repeated.

“That,” said Arwen, a smile of satisfaction on her lips, “I will.”

With this, she stepped forward, grabbed her sister by the braid and wielded her sword. Aragorn closed his eyes.

There was a silence. It seemed to Aragorn that it lasted an eternity.

Then, there was the scream.

A cry of true agony, of wrath, and of fear, ringing through the woods. It went on forever and ever... and then it stopped.

Aragorn opened his eyes. And what he saw was this;

There was Arwen, standing tall, a picture of power.

There was her sister, on her knees, pale as the flowers that grow on dead kings’ graves.

There was the braid, hanging in Arwen’s hand, a few hairs moving in the wind.

And everything was quiet.

Aragorn looked down at the bouquet in his hand. The flowers had been crushed, and were hanging sadly in his grip. He looked up at Arwen again.

“I picked them for you,” he said, and handed her the remains of the bouquet.

She took it and contemplated it for a moment. Then she looked into his eyes and smiled.

On the ground, the Mary Sue reached up, hands trembling, towards the short remains of her delicate coiffure. She started to cry.

***

It was an early morning, upon which the mist still lingered, that Galadriel, Lady of the Golden forest, for the first time tried her new coat on.

It had been woven in a complicated and lovely pattern, and cut in a most flattering manner. Elrond could be proud; this was truly a masterpiece. And the embroidery that Arwen had made for the collar and the sleeves was just perfect.

Galadriel turned around in front of the mirror, and then turned towards Elrond, who was anxiously waiting by her side.

“It will do,” she told him, “It will do very well indeed.”

Elrond relaxed. These were big words, coming from Galadriel. He was pleased. He had put much of himself into that coat. Literally speaking.

“I will now return to my residence,” she continued, “where I shall spread the news that the Mary Sues are no longer a threat.”

Elrond made a face. Galadriel looked sternly at him and added;

“And there shall be much rejoicing.”

“Yes, I expect there will,” said Elrond reluctantly, and tried to avoid her gaze.

“You were doing the right thing,” said Galadriel softly.

Elrond shrugged. “Well, yes, I guess so... I just wish that things had been different.”

Galadriel nodded. She could understand that, even if she thought that the Mary Sues had fully deserved the faith coming to them. They stood silent for a moment.

Eventually, Elrond sighed.

“Oh well,” he said, “I guess it’s all for the best of Middle Earth.”

“You are absolutely right,” said Galadriel.

In the garden, snoring could be heard from Aragorn’s tent. Elrond and Galadriel passed it, careful not to disturb the sleeping couple.

As Galadriel mounted her horse, she leant down one last time and reassured Elrond that he had done the right thing.

“Remember, that they now dwell where they can do no harm,” she said. Then she rode off into the fog, towards Lothlórien.

_“Yes,”_ thought Elrond, _“They now dwell in a place where their powers are weak, and where they can do no more harm to Middle Earth.”_

And he sincerely believed it.

***

**Epilogue**

In a small town a girl got off the bus. She hummed a happy tune, thinking of nothing in particular, as she walked up the street to her home.

She was known to be a nice girl, nothing special, really, but quite nice. And she did have a good singing voice. Maybe not as good as she thought it was, but still good.

She entered her room and turned on the lights, dropped her bag on the floor, but then changed her mind and picked it up, carefully placing it on her bed. She was a nice girl indeed.

If anything bad could be said about her, it would be that she tended to get too obsessed over certain artists and actors. Her walls were always filled with posters of this or that artist and she liked to read about her heroes in various gossip-magazines. Her mother had actually caved in and bought her a copy of “Backstreet Boys; a biography” a while ago. She still hadn’t read it. She wasn’t much for books. She liked the pictures, though.

On this particular night, she had been to the movies and seen this new fantasy-film everyone was talking about. She had been overwhelmed. It was all so beautiful, so special, so... she didn’t really have the words for it.

But she had felt that something had been missing in this wonderful saga. There hadn’t been enough love. This girl enjoyed a good old love story, but here, they hadn’t really added much of that.

And then, on her way home, this amazing idea had come to her; she would write her own story! With lots of love! And in this Middle Earth-place!

She had come up with a great name for her heroine, too. It all felt so natural! She turned on her computer and settled down, staring at the screen for a moment.

Then she started to type.

_“Once upon a time in Middle Earth, there was this beautiful elven lady, who was loved by everyone for her beauty...”_

She thought for a while, and added;

_“And for her beautiful singing-voice.”_

The girl smiled, and looked at the sentences. This was going to be great! As inspiration took hold of her, she wrote;

_“She was a princess, and everyone knew that she could not have her true love, for he was merely a steward’s son, while she was royal. It was all very sad._

_The beautiful elven princess went by the name of Rapúnzelidion...”_

 

 

**The end**

_(For now)_

*******

**Author's note:**  
Lyrics from "The Piper" belongs to ABBA.

Great thanks to my Beta, D'Euly! (And to Terry Pratchett, who will never know what a great source of inspiration he has been to me.)


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